Reasons Why Wingmen Shouldn't Have Wings
by kyaticlikestea
Summary: Fed up of his brother setting him up on terrible dates, Dean appoints Cas as his wingman. Cas only has one condition; he can ask one favour from Dean, and Dean can't refuse. When that favour turns out to be a date, Dean is apprehensive. Misunderstandings, mistakes and misdirected angst ensue, and it's all written on Dean's soul.
1. Chapter 1

The first time Dean manages to persuade Cas to be his wingman, it's approaching midnight, the end to one of _those_ days, and Dean is sitting in a seedy bar opposite a girl who is, on the surface, pretty much his idea of a perfect Friday night. When he'd first laid eyes on her about an hour ago, he'd made a mental note to congratulate Sam for setting him up with the hottest woman this side of Heaven, because seriously, Sam's track record with blind dates is absolutely terrible. In the space of about six months, Dean has been set up with two lesbians, one lawyer and three Romney supporters. He hadn't even known that they existed outside the grubby corners of the internet. He doesn't really know why he still lets Sam set him up, but it seems to make Sam happy, so he goes along with it. It's not like he can't find his own dates, thank you very much. In fact, he likes to think he's pretty adept at it. He might not be Casanova but he gets laid regularly enough and that's all that really matters in the short-term. He doesn't let himself think about the long-run.

This girl is an anomaly in that, until now, she'd seemed almost completely normal and entirely ridiculously hot. With bright blue eyes, long dark hair and a dress that clings in all the right places, she's totally Dean's type. Unfortunately, she's also apparently a complete moron. She likes_Twilight_, and worse, she's Team Jacob. She doesn't get Dean's Dr Sexy references. She _hasn't heard of Led Zeppelin._ Worst of all, she's spent the past ten minutes extolling the virtues of a vegan diet free from gluten and carbs. Dean is nodding around his mouthfuls of cheeseburger but he doesn't know how much longer he can stand to hear about what is essentially edible cardboard before he has to hurl.

Mercifully, God provides him with a window of opportunity. The girl – Brianna, she said her name was – puts down her fork, loaded with rabbit food, and blushes.

"Would you mind if I excused myself for a moment?" she asks. "I have to use the bathroom."

Dean nods, internally praising the Lord, and she smiles gratefully. "I'll only be a moment," she promises. Dean doesn't particularly want to hold her to that. As soon as she's out of earshot, Dean whips out his cell phone, which he's had hidden on his lap for the past ten minutes in preparation for a time such as this. He needs an out, and he needs it now. He's about to call Sam when he remembers that Sam is out of town on some pansy conference about feelings, the kind that don't involve penises, and curses under his breath. Who else can he call? He doesn't much fancy his chances of Bobby being sympathetic, and the ribbing he'd get for the next six months just isn't worth it. With Sam and Bobby out of the picture, that pretty much just leaves Cas. Dean is momentarily stunned at how few friends he actually has – two of whom are family members, at least by default – before deciding that hey, calling Cas is better than spending the next two hours listening to Brianna drone on about soy milk.

Cas, to his credit, picks up after the third ring.

"Hello?" he says, gruffly. Dean thinks that he sounds like he's just woken up, but then again, he always sounds like that, like he's been dragged out of some pleasant dream and isn't happy about it. "What do you want, Dean?"

"Cas, man, you gotta help me," Dean hisses. The pause that follows is so pregnant with confusion that Dean would laugh if this weren't a life or death situation.

"Are you in trouble?" Cas asks.

"Dude, so much," Dean replies. "Cas, you gotta be my wingman."

He can almost hear Cas furrowing his brow in complete 'does-not-compute' mode. The image makes him smile inexplicably.

"I do not understand," says Cas. "What is it that you want from me, Dean?"

Dean is sick of spelling everything out for the angel. Life is not an alphabet. This is not Sesame Street.

"A wingman, Cas," Dean sighs, exasperated. "You know!"

"I believe I have made it apparent that I do not. Unless you are referring to my wings, in which case, I am already - "

"It has nothing to do with actual wings, Cas," Dean groans. He's running out of time. "Look, forget the 'wingman' bit, OK? Here's what's going down; Sam has set me up on a date with this woman and she's a total psycho, man. She reads books about gay vampires and shit. I can't do this. I need you to phone me in like fifteen minutes, help me get away."

There is a short pause as Cas digests the information. Dean hopes he's getting it.

"What would be required of this phonecall?" Cas asks, carefully, and Dean knows he's hitting the home stretch.

"Just something that means I have to leave," Dan answers. "I don't know. Tell me my dog's died or something."

"But you do not have a dog," Cas points out.

"She doesn't know that!" Dean cries. The man on the table next to him gives him an odd stare. Dean gestures some uncoordinated reference to Cas' complete ignorance to the workings of society, and the man seems to get it.

"So, if I have understood you correctly, you require me to wait approximately fifteen minutes and then telephone you with the news that your dog has passed away," Cas clarifies. Dean nods, then remembers that Cas can't actually see him nod – or can he? He wouldn't be entirely surprised – and decides to verbalise.

"Yeah, basically," he confirms. Cas sighs.

"Have you not considered honesty towards the girl in question?" he asks. Dean snorts.

"Man, trust me on this," he says. "Honesty is never the best policy when it comes to dating."

From the corner of his eye he sees Brianna picking her way through tables of drunken truckers to reach him, and he steels himself for the most tedious fifteen minutes in living memory.

"Cas, I gotta go," he whispers. "But don't forget, yeah? I'm trusting you on this."

"I will not let you down," Cas promises. Dean hopes he's telling the truth.

Brianna reclaims her seat opposite Dean, picks up a forkful of disgustingly green stuff and offers Dean a mega-watt smile that he would find seriously attractive on a girl with half a brain.

"Where was I?" she beams.

"You were in the bathroom," says Cas, and Dean turns around sharply. Cas is standing behind him, his eyes narrowed in confusion. "Do you not recall?"

Brianna giggles nervously. Dean rests his head in his hands. He'd forgotten about Cas' angelic mojo teleportation thing. Normally, he thinks it's kind of cool, but right now? He just wishes he'd chosen a less socially awkward wingman. Still, at least Brianna will probably be sufficiently freaked that she won't ask for a second date.

"Sorry, but who are you?" she asks. Cas looks at her, blankly.

"Dean has a dog," he says. Dean wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole. Brianna looks at Cas, then at Dean, then back at Cas.

"OK," she replies, slowly.

"It is dead," Cas continues. He looks at Dean. "Sorry, Dean."

"Hey, man, not your fault," Dean mutters. Cas is about as smooth as sandpaper, he thinks. Brianna's mouth falls open slightly.

"Sorry, Dean, but who is this?"

Dean scratches the back of his head. Roommate, he thinks. That'll work.

"My roommate," he answers. Brianna raises an eyebrow.

"I take it you shared the dog," she says. She points at Cas. "He doesn't look too upset that it's dead."

Cas' eyes widen, almost imperceptible to those who don't know him as well as Dean. Well, shit. No-one expects the Spanish inquisition, thinks Dean, and he opens his mouth to explain, but Cas beats him to it. Dean's heart sinks in worried anticipation.

"The dog was named Mary, after Dean's late mother," Cas starts. "Dean has had the dog since he was quite young. I have only lived with Dean for four months, three weeks and six days. It did not seem pertinent to grieve for something that someone else loved more."

Dean stares. Brianna flushes and looks down at her salad.

"Sorry," she mumbles. Cas opens his mouth, clearly about to say '_and you should be_', but this time Dean wins.

"It's OK," Dean says, breezily. "But, hey, is it cool if we call it a night?" He manages to make his voice crack audibly and praises his own acting skills. "That son of a bitch was all I had in the world. That female son of a bitch. Obviously."

Brianna pats his hand sympathetically.

"Of course, it's fine," she says. "You go and take care of what you need to take care of." She stands up, placing her hand on Dean's shoulder. "Call me?"

Dean nods.

"I will, definitely," he lies. Brianna smiles.

"Great," she says. "See you soon!"

With that, she leaves, and Dean breathes a sigh of relief. Cas looks at him. The man on the next table is staring at them weirdly and Dean sighs. He grabs Cas by the wrist and manoeuvres him into standing next to Brianna's now vacated seat.

"Sit down, Jesus," he says. "You're making the place look untidy."

Cas still looks suspicious, but does as Dean asks, reaching over to steal one of Dean's fries as he does so. Dean bats him away. Cas fixes him with a glare that clearly says '_I am having one and you cannot stop me_', and Dean relents. He values his life and doesn't want it ended by an angel over a French fry. When Cas has finished chewing, he regards Dean thoughtfully, eyes as ridiculously blue and confused as ever.

"I still do not understand why you could not have told her that you wished the date to be over," he confesses. Dean offers him a fry and he takes it.

"I didn't want to sleep with her, Cas," says Dean, picking up his hamburger. He'd forgotten about that. That's worrying. It's not often Dean forgets about food. "But that doesn't mean I wanted to hurt her feelings. It's not her fault we were about as compatible as Bert and Big Bird. And yeah, I know you don't get that reference, but you get my drift, right? You gotta be cruel to be kind."

Cas nods slowly.

"I think I am beginning to understand," he says. "And this is what is meant by 'wingman'?"

Dean mumbles his confirmation around a mouthful of now lukewarm burger. Cas eyes the burger jealously and Dean sighs, setting it down onto the plate and wiping his mouth before offering the plate to Cas. His stomach feels odd, ostensibly with hunger, as he watches Cas' look of utter joy. He looks away.

"Dean, I think I would like to be your wingman," says Cas, finally. A small smile spreads across his lips and Dean's stomach protests its hunger again. "It is a fitting title for an angel."

Dean grins. He doubts Cas fully understands what he's let himself in for. Cas doesn't know Sam.

"All right," he says. He pauses. "But next time, just call, yeah? The whole 'beam me up Scotty' vibe might be a bit, y'know, obvious."

Cas nods.

"I am sorry," he says. "I thought it would be more convenient."

Dean feels guilty. He pats Cas' wrist in what he hopes is a reassuring way, ignoring the way Cas narrows his eyes.

"Cas," he says. "I have faith that you'll be the best wingman ever."

Of course, he'd be his only wingman ever, but that's a story for another day, when Dean's had a lot more to drink.

* * *

The next time it happens, Dean is entirely to blame. He can't put any of this on Sam. Dean had met the girl – Janet, what a name - last week while in possession of a spectacular pair of beer goggles and invited her for coffee – why had he done that? He never invites anyone for coffee, because seriously – and in the cold, sober light of day, it turns out that the girl has a pretty impressive moustache. It's not that Dean's shallow – well, not _that _shallow – but he draws the line at girls who have more facial hair than he does. As before, he waits for Janet to make her excuses and go to the bathroom before phoning Cas. Cas answers after the first ring this time, and Dean finds himself incredibly pleased by this.

"Cas, I'm in trouble," he says. Cas sighs audibly.

"Do you require my services as wingman?" he asks, as though 'wingman' is an official job with paychecks and a corner desk. Dean finds it endearing as hell.

"Yeah," he says. "You know the drill, right?"

"I believe I have sufficient recall to perform the task," Cas says drily. "I shall phone again in ten minutes."

"Thanks," says Dean. "I owe you one."

"Yes," agrees Cas. "You do."

When Janet returns, she orders another cup of coffee. Dean guiltily refuses, aware that he won't be here long enough to actually drink it. Janet is good company, and the ten minutes pass quickly, but Dean doesn't regret his decision when Cas calls. He lets it ring four times to feign ignorance of what's coming before answering.

"Yo, Cas," he says. "What's up?"

"I am calling to inform you that I have recently split with my long-term partner and require a shoulder upon which to cry," Cas answers, and it's so obvious that he's reading from a script that Dean has to fight back laughter. Drawing his features into what he hopes is a concerned rather than amused or constipated expression, Dean continues.

"Oh no, man, that sucks," he says. "Do you need me to come round?"

"Yes, Dean, that would be the point of this conversation," Cas says, impatiently. Dean hopes Janet didn't hear that. She's looking at him worriedly, her mug still in her hands.

"OK, OK, calm down. I'll be there in ten." Dean can see Janet's shoulders slump as she realises that the date is over.

"Thank you," says Cas, hanging up.

"No problem," Dean tells the dead line, and, putting his phone back in his pocket, fixes Janet with an empathetic gaze. He shrugs. "What can you do?" he sighs. "The man's a mess."

Janet sets down her mug, slightly sadly. Dean feels the old familiar tug of guilt at his heartstrings but ignores it. She has a _moustache_.

"You have to go?" she asks. Dean nods.

"Yeah, sorry," he responds. "That was my friend. His boyfriend just dumped him. He's a broken shell of a man."

He's not sure why he decided that Cas' non-existent relationship should be homosexual, but he rolls with it. Janet smiles softly.

"It's great that you're doing this for your friend," she tells him. "It's fine, I get it. You'll text me, right?" She looks hopeful, and Dean nods as he stands up.

"Definitely," he says untruthfully. "I had a nice time."

Janet looks happier at this, and Dean offers her one last consolatory smile before walking out.

Cas is waiting outside. Dean's heart flips. He supposes the guilt is tugging harder than usual.

"You owe me," says Cas. Dean shrugs.

"All right, I get it." Cas raises an eyebrow. " Just let me know when you need that favour calling in, yeah?"

"I will," says Cas, before promptly disappearing. Dean just stands there, shaking his head. He doesn't understand that angel.

* * *

It's a complete surprise when Dean's phone rings six days later while Dean's in the middle of a blazing row with Sam. Sam raises an eyebrow.

"You gonna answer that?" he asks. Dean growls.

"No, I was going to keep destroying you verbally," he retorts. Sam scoffs.

"Dream on, jerk."

"Maybe I will, bitch." Ignoring Sam's disgusted look, Dean looks at his phone. Cas is calling him. This is unusual; Cas hates phonecalls. His main philosophy in life seems to be _why call when you can freak everyone the fuck out by teleporting?_ Dean finds himself glad that Cas is breaking with tradition. Cas always manages to cheer him up with his insane ineptitude. Or piss him off beyond belief. It's 50/50, really.

"Jesus, answer it," Sam moans. "Your ringtone is the most annoying thing since Rebecca Black."

Dean sticks his tongue out at Sam, who retorts by giving him a look of complete and utter revulsion, and answers the call.

"Cas," he says by way of greeting. "You interrupted me beating Sammy's ass into the ground with my words."

Sam barks out a huff of frustrated laughter.

"I did not mean to interrupt anything," says Cas. "I am merely calling to request the favour that you owe me."

Dean has to process that for a few moments before he realises what Cas is referring to and groans.

"Cas, man," he says. "I didn't think you were actually gonna hold me to that."

"You told me to." Cas' tone is clipped, and Dean knows better than to argue with that. He sighs.

"Fine. What do you want?"

"I would like to spend time with you," is Cas' answer.

"You spend plenty of time with us on hunts and stuff," Dean says. Sam raises his eyebrows and Dean turns away from him.

"I do not mean with you and Sam," Cas clarifies, and Dean knows he's probably imagining it but Cas sounds flustered. "I would like to spend time with you, Dean."

Dean's heart-rate suddenly seems to have increased to dangerous levels. He can almost hear Sam's gloating already.

"Why?" he asks. Cas doesn't respond for a few moments and Dean fears the worst.

"I do not read books about homosexual vampires," he replies eventually, and Dean is so screwed. "And I do not have a moustache."

Dean considers this. Of all the conversations he imagined having today, this isn't one of them. Actually, scrap 'today'. '_Ever_' would be more appropriate.

Dean isn't gay, but when he thinks about it, Castiel isn't a man. Sure, he's got a dick, but he's pretty sure that Lady Gaga does too. He's not going to deny that he can appreciate the fact that Jimmy Novak was kind of a looker, if you're into that kind of thing, but dudes don't usually do it for him and he wonders if he can look past the fact that Cas' meat suit has a definite bulge in the trouser department.

Cas is pretty great. Dean owes his life to him.

"All right," he finds himself saying. "Fine. When?"

"Are you available from 8pm tonight?" asks Cas, sounding more cheerful than Dean thought possible for an angel.

"Yeah," Dean replies. "See you then, I guess."

"Yes," Cas confirms, and hangs up. Dean, who will never get used to Cas' telephone manner, stares at his phone in disbelief. Sam clears his throat.

"Sounds like someone's got a hot date lined up," he teases. Dean facepalms.

"I thought Cas would ask me to pick up something convenient, y'know, like demon blood or a child's soul. Not a date." He pauses. "Is it even a date? He didn't say the word 'date'. It might not be a date - "

"It's a date," Sam says, cutting Dean's babbling off. "He looks at you like you look at apple pie, and wow, that came out more adorable than I'd planned. Anyway, best get your glad-rags on and pick out an outfit."

Dean throws a cushion at him. Sam grins and leaves Dean to it, humming 'I'm Going Out Tonight' under his breath.

Dean swears that if he makes it to sunrise, he's going to kill himself.


	2. Chapter 2

They go to the same place where Cas first acted as Dean's wingman, the slightly grotty bar just out of town that's frequented by men with handlebar moustaches and leather chaps. Dean feels more than a little comfortable about going on a date with a dude to this place, but he figures that at least his date is an angel of the Lord and can smite anyone who gives them shit. Not that they're going to be here for very long, of course. He feels like kind of an asshole for it, but hey, it's not his fault. He's just not looking to bang a dude tonight.

Sam had sounded disapproving, but he still agreed to act as a stand-in wingman. One hour. That's all Dean has to put up with.

When they finally get served by a waiter with the dumbest looking stare that Dean's ever seen, he orders the same thing he had last time he was here, a burger and fries, and Cas doesn't order anything. Dean narrows his eyes. Cas shrugs.

"I do not require food, Dean," he says.

"You like hamburgers, though," Dean points out.

"Yes, but I can take some of yours if I wish."

"Can you?"

"Will you stop me?"

Dean considers it.

"Probably not."

The waiter stares at them blankly like a cow chewing cud.

"Is that everything?" he asks.

"Yeah, thanks," Dean replies. Cas furrows his brow.

"Your mother is not angry with you," he tells the waiter. The waiter looks at him.

"What?" he asks. Dean facepalms.

"Me," he blurts out. "My mother. We had an argument before I came out. To here, that is. Not like, coming out. But yeah. He's just reassuring me, you know? That my mom's not angry with me. So that's nice."

Cas stares at him.

"Your mother is dead, Dean," he says.

"That's everything, thanks," Dean tells the waiter, firmly. The waiter walks away from the table slightly hurriedly, casting a suspicious look over his shoulder when he reaches the bar, and Dean fixes Cas with an exasperated glare. "Dude," he says.

"Yes, Dean?"

"Did your experience at the brothel honestly not teach you anything?" Dean sighs. Cas seems to consider the question.

"That I am not sexually interested in women," he supplies. Dean closes his eyes and counts to three. He could kill the angel if he weren't so damn endearing half the time.

"I mean... look. You can't go round telling people that you know personal things about their lives, man. It's fucking weird. You're gonna get pegged as a stalker or something."

"I'm sorry, Dean," says Cas. Dean rubs the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

"Don't apologise to me," he says. "Just, y'know, stop doing it."

"I will try," says Cas. "I do not mean to cause discomfort. I am merely trying to help. That waiter – Keith Bride – believes that his mother is angry with him due to the fact he has fallen in love with the daughter of her ex-boyfriend. In fact, his mother is happy, believing it to offer the chance of a reconciliation between the two. She has not told him this and he is suffering unnecessarily. I thought it pertinent to assist."

Dean takes a moment to process this.

"OK, the intentions are good," he begins. "But the execution is a little off. Just... don't be creepy about it, OK?"

"All right."

They don't say anything for a few minutes until the waiter – Keith, Dean reminds himself, and then feels somehow sullied because he knows the name of a total stranger and that's just fucking weird – returns with Dean's food. Dean wordlessly hands the burger to Cas, who accepts it with a grateful look. Dean can't fight back the grin. He picks up his fork and starts eating.

"So, how do you know all this stuff about everyone, anyway?" Dean asks around a mouthful of limp salad.

Cas shrugs.

"I know your every indiscretion, Dean," he says. Dean blinks.

"Well, that's not at all creepy," he responds. Cas just looks at him.

"They're written on your soul," he continues.

Dean skewers a French fry with his fork and contemplates what he's just heard. Cas knows all the shit he's done and he's still here with him. He still asked him out. He's still content to sit here and watch Dean eat and occasionally pick at his food. Dean likes that.

"OK then," says Dean. "A test. Have I ever had a threesome?"

Cas blinks.

"No," he says. "You have not."

Dean grins.

"Indeed I have not," he agrees. "Always seemed like too much effort. I'm more of a bracket A, bracket B kind of guy. Bracket C just complicates things."

Cas furrows his brow.

"I do not follow."

"You're not missing out," says Dean. "Man, I envy you sometimes, y'know? Must be great to be unburdened with sexual desire. To just be able to look at someone and not have your opinion clouded by the fact you want to bone them or anything."

Cas chews thoughtfully on a mouthful of burger.

"I would not say that I am unburdened," he eventually says. "I would say that I am less burdened than most."

"OK," says Dean, and then he doesn't know what else to say until he does. "But you just said you weren't sexually attracted to women."

"Not particularly," Cas acquiesces. "I would not say that I am sexually attracted to humans in general. However, I believe that I would be amiable to the act with someone with whom I had already formed a close bond."

Dean blinks.

"You're a closet romantic," he says. "Great."

Cas has the grace to blush.

"Is this a negative aspect of my character?" he asks. Dean laughs.

"In today's society? Yeah, probably." He watches Cas finish his burger, watches him reach over to steal a French fry from Dean's plate, and is suddenly struck by the fact that his fingers are long and – dare he say it – graceful. He bets Jimmy Novak was a pianist. He can't deny that Jimmy Novak was a damn good looking guy.

Sometimes he thinks it's weird that Cas' body isn't his own, that it once belonged to someone else, was controlled by someone who might have been scared of crowds or flying. He wonders if Cas thinks of the body as his now. He's stopped calling it his 'vessel' since Jimmy passed on for good. Cas wears it differently now. He doesn't wear it like a skin. It fits. He owns it now. He's comfortable, and he's still full of weird mannerisms and social faux-pas, but he's Cas now, not the angel of Thursday in Jimmy Novak's body.

It hits Dean a bit like a ton of bricks, really, when he realises that he's not exactly physically attracted to Cas. He knows that, has known that since he met the guy. What makes Cas attractive – and Dean isn't going to deny it – is the fact that he's _Cas_, the fact that he drums his fingers on the table when he's impatient and cricks his head to the left when he's confused and to the right when he's contemplative.

Cas looks at him, blue eyes filled with concern, and Dean realises that he's been staring. He swallows. "Cas - "

And then his phone rings. Dean answers it quickly. He needs to tell Cas now or he never will, and that's never productive. He'll get rid of whoever's ringing him, tell them to call back later.

"Hello?" he says.

"Dean, you are a horrible person and Cas deserves better," says Sam. "This is your get out of jail free card. This is your day release from the prison of your inflated ego. I hope Cas goes home with a 6ft blonde."

Dean sits still. Cas looks at him, thunder in his eyes. He heard. Of course he did. Even if he didn't, '_your every indiscretion'_. He knows. Dean hangs up on his brother wordlessly. Cas looks down at the table.

"Cas," says Dean again.

"You told me once that you had to be cruel to be kind in these matters," says Cas, bitterly. "But Dean, there was no kindness in that cruelty." He stands up, and Dean can't bring himself to protest. He doesn't know what to do. "Enjoy the rest of your meal," Cas says neutrally, turning to leave, but it's anything but neutral, Dean knows.

"Cas," he attempts lamely yet again. Cas doesn't turn around.

Dean swears under his breath. He should write a book on dating, he thinks. He could call it 'How To Die Alone'. It'd be a bestseller.

He doesn't even know what he wants to say to Cas. He doesn't know how he feels. He knows that his heart thuds a little when he sees him for the first time after a long absence and he knows that Cas' idiosyncrasies make him smile and he knows that even when he complains about Cas' weirdness, he doesn't really mind it.

"You finished?" Keith asks from behind him. Dean nods. Keith stares at him. "Not the burger," he says. "With that guy. He didn't look happy."

Dean thinks about it.

"No," he says. "Not if I have anything to say about it."

"Right," says Keith. "That'll be $4.99, then."

* * *

Dean drives back to the motel in silence, ignoring the Asia cassette in the glovebox. He sleeps on top of the covers in his clothes and doesn't dream.

He formulates a plan that night. It's not the greatest plan in the world, but he thinks it might work.

He hopes it does, or Sam's going to have enough blackmail material to last them both a lifetime.


	3. Chapter 3

As luck wouldn't have it, it turns out that there's some sort of freaky unicorn vampire hybrid on the loose in a small town about ten miles away. Dean's phone rings at 6am and he regrets holding it so close to his ear when he answers. The way the panicked woman on the phone describes it doesn't fill Dean with much hope for an easy day. Angels and demons, he can just about deal with. Ghosts? Bit of a pain, but doable. Undead mythical creatures? Not Dean's forté.

He rolls out of bed and reaches over to pull on the shirt at the end of the sheets before remembering that he didn't actually get undressed last night. Screw it. He's not going to Milan. He figures he'll just go as he is. He'll probably end up covered in blood and all sorts of other delightful internal fluids anyway. Yawning, he unlocks the door to his room and walks the couple of steps to Sam's room, knocking on his door with as much energy as he can muster.

"I'm not here," whines Sam from inside. Dean can imagine him now, cocooned in the sheets like a kid, and can't stop himself from laughing at the image.

"Stop being a bitch and get up. We've got a job."

He can almost hear Sam muttering complaints to himself as he walks back into his room and shuts the door, sitting at the end of the bed. It's not even light outside and today has already gone to shit. He thinks back to his plan. He wants to talk to Cas. He needs to, really. That's fucking Plan A, and he doesn't have a Plan B. Statistically speaking, that's a complete dick move on Dean's part, he knows. He usually ends up having to go with fucking Plan W. So yeah, he wants to talk to Cas. He doesn't, however, want to do it whilst trying to kill a demented unicorn. Historically speaking, angels and bloodsucking horned horses don't have much in common, so Dean thinks it's probably best he leaves Cas out of this one.

There's a knock on his door.

"Yeah?" he shouts. The door opens, and a rather bleary-eyed Sam stands there, mid-yawn.

"Stop jerking off and let's go," says Sam. Dean raises an eyebrow.

"What have I told you about projecting, Sammy?" he says, standing up and heaving his rucksack over his shoulder. Sam sticks his tongue out, and Dean sticks his middle finger up in return. "Come on, then. And before you ask, no. You are not driving."

* * *

Considering they've never dealt with anything like this before, Dean thinks they're doing pretty well. They've managed to shepherd the unicorn-vampire-whatever-the-fuck-it-is into some dilapidated ruins of a house in the woods just outside the town. All they have to do now is actually get rid of it. This, despite what many people seem to think, is not Dean's favourite part of any job. Hunting is all well and good until you have to actually, you know, kill the thing. There's a definite difference between killing a malevolent spirit, Dean thinks, and some poor creature that's only dangerous because it's confused. Ordinarily, according to the book Sam is currently shoving into his bag, this unicorn thing is pretty docile, surviving on the blood of smaller mammals and only coming out at night. This one, however, is a different story. It's already tried to turn Dean and Sam into a Winchester kebab.

Dean is not looking forward to the next part.

He looks at Sam. Sam looks at Dean and shrugs.

"I don't have a clue, either," he whispers. He rubs the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "We're in over our heads, Dean. We should call for help."

Dean raises an eyebrow.

"Help," he states, flatly. "Who do you propose we call? Do you think we could get Bobby to wheel himself a couple hundred miles to help our asses out? Or maybe we could just walk to the nearest gas station, find a couple willing volunteers, tell them it's just a horse with a skin condition and a blood fetish. Or maybe - "

"We _could _have called Cas," Sam points out, cutting him off mid tirade. "But you've managed to piss him off, haven't you?"

Dean feels his heart sink. Of course Sam knows. He hasn't asked him once how his not-date – OK, it was totally a date – with Cas went last night. He's known all along that he wouldn't approve of the answer.

"No," Dean lies, but he knows it's pointless. Sam rolls his eyes.

"I'm not stupid, you know," he says. "You don't have to tell me what happened or anything, but if we're going to be down an angel for the foreseeable future because you couldn't keep it in your pants, I'd like to know."

Dean almost chokes on his own saliva.

"That is _not _what happened," he manages to say. Sam grins.

"Then you can tell me what did."

Dean knows he's been caught out and curses under his breath. He's about to open his mouth again, tell Sam that hey, he fucked it up because he's an asshole with no actual feelings, when the rickety wooden door they're leaning against is almost knocked off its hinges by a slam from the other side.

"Shit!" hisses Sam. He looks at Dean, panicked. "If you're still on speaking terms, now would be a really good time to get Cas in on this."

The door is pushed hard from behind them again. Dean grits his heels deeper into the dirt and pushes back. He doesn't _want _to get Cas in on this. He doesn't want the first time he sees Cas after upsetting him to be whilst fighting the shit out of a goddamn unicorn.

The unicorn – and really, that name does _not_ do the power and terror of the animal justice - rams the door again. Dean feels it give just a little more, the hinges strained to breaking point.

"Dean!" Sam pleads, desperately. "I don't care if it injures your fragile man pride. Call. Cas!"

Dean wonders why he ever thought it correct to refer to his existence as a 'life'. He resolves to immediately terminate the process as soon as he gets the chance.

"Fairytales have a lot to answer for," he mutters under his breath, before closing his eyes and thinking of Cas. He finds it surprisingly easy to conjure up an image of the angel, stupid trenchcoat and all. It freaks him out sometimes just how engrained he's become in their lives, how integral he is.

He's about to start praying when the door gives way completely behind him and he and Sam are both thrown to the ground, and that's when his life flashes before his eyes. It's a pretty interesting life, actually, although a little too R rated to forego concern.

The unicorn rears onto its hind legs, standing a good 7ft tall and towering above Dean in the dirt, eyes flashing with fear and anger, and then brings its hooves down with such speed that Dean barely has time to roll out of the way. He looks around hurriedly to see whether Sam's safe and is relieved through fright to see that he's managed to stay out of the unicorn's way. It doesn't look like it's seen him, which is fortunate for Sam but inherently _un_fortunate for Dean.

Well, Dean supposes, the unicorn already knows where he is. There's no point in trying to hide. He'll never manage to outrun or overpower the beast. The best he can do is act as bait; lead it away from Sam so that at least one of them can escape relatively unscathed. He catches Sam's eye and motions for him to hide behind the corner. Sam shakes his head, but Dean widens his eyes in urgency and Sam gives in, dashing behind the nearest wall of the house.

Dean's on his own now.

He scrambles to his feet and almost manages to start running away before the unicorn gives a loud bray of fury and shoves into him again, knocking him to all fours.

This is it, then. He's fought demons, ghosts and Leviathans and he's about to end it all at the hands – hooves – of a murderous unicorn.

He raises his hands above his head defensively in expectance of the final blow.

It doesn't come. Instead, he feels a familiar gush of ethereal wind, hears the impatient sigh of an angel who is tired of this shit and the terrified whinny of a horse that knows its number's up.

He peers through his fingers and sees Cas standing over the body of the unicorn. He notices that the horn is no longer on the unicorn's forehead but is instead sticking out of its body, just where he thinks its heart might be. It's very much dead. Cas looks pissed.

Dean swallows.

"Hi," he says, and then doesn't say anything because he's never had to thank anyone for murdering a unicorn before and he doesn't think he knows the right etiquette for that, especially when the person in question is seriously annoyed with him.

Sam gingerly peeks out from behind the wall and, seeing that Cas has saved their asses, takes a few steps forward, dusting off his jeans.

"Oh, cool, you called Cas after all," he beams, and that's when Dean realises that he didn't call him at all. Cas just came.

He looks at Cas. Cas looks at him, arms folded and shakes his head. He almost looks disappointed, and Dean's stomach flips right over.

"Written on your soul, Dean. Remember?" Cas mutters, and then heads towards the Impala. Dean just watches him, mouth slightly agape. He doesn't know if he's ever heard Cas sound so bitter.

Sam looks at Dean curiously, brow furrowed slightly, and Dean gulps, arranging his features carefully into a stoic mask of not giving a fuck.

"Shall we?" says Dean, gesturing for Sam to follow Cas. Sam nods slowly and walks ahead, not taking his eyes off Dean until he almost trips over the door that's now lying in two pieces on the dusty ground.

Dean could really do with a cheeseburger.

* * *

They find the cheapest looking burger joint that's open at 9am and, aching, haul themselves into the red plastic booths. Cas still looks decidedly unhappy, and Sam is clearly picking up that something is very wrong.

When the waitress, a bored looking teenager by the name of Sally, comes by to take their order, Dean orders three burgers on auto-pilot. Sam studies him like Dean's a piece of shit under a microscope before changing his to a fried breakfast.

"It's way too early for beef," he says, by way of explanation. Dean doesn't think it's ever too early for beef, but he's too tired to point it out.

"I am not hungry," announces Cas, his hands in his lap, back rigid. Dean sighs.

"You're never hungry," Dean points out. "You just enjoy cheeseburgers."

Cas narrows his eyes.

"I am not hungry," he repeats. Dean knows that what he's really saying is 'I would very much like to leave you both here but I just saved your lives'.

The waitress returns with their food and only Sam remembers to thank her. She doesn't seem overly bothered, thankfully. Dean falls upon his burger like he hasn't eaten for months. Sam wrinkles his nose at him in disgust, tactfully remaining silent. Cas doesn't even touch his.

Dean sighs.

"Cas, eat your burger," he says. Cas blinks.

"I do not wish to say it for a third time," he says. "But - "

"You're not hungry, yeah, I know, I got it." Dean chews and swallows. "Just eat the damn burger and we can get on the road again and you can go and sit on your cloud again like none of this ever happened."

Cas' eyes widen. Dean's heartrate increases. Sam throws down his cutlery.

"I'm going to get a coffee," he states. "You two are going to sort this out, or so help me, I am going to go back, get that unicorn horn and stab you both to death with it."

He shoots Dean one last look of annoyance before standing up and heading towards the bar.

Dean swallows. He's alone with Cas, which is great. Cas clearly thinks so too, if the way he's inspecting his hands like they're the most interesting things in the cosmos is anything to go by.

Dean clears his throat.

"So," he begins, putting down his burger.

"I was waiting for you to call me," Cas tells him, bluntly. Dean blinks. "You could have called me," Cas adds, more softly.

Dean's brain short circuits. He couldn't have called Cas. Not really. He needed to wait, needed to talk to him properly.

"I," he says, and stops because articulacy is not his strong point. He sighs. "I need a minute. I don't know how to phrase it."

Cas frowns.

"You do not want to spend time with me," he says. And he believes it, Dean can tell. He says it like it's nothing, but his borrowed voice cracks slightly and something breaks a little in Dean to discover that he really thinks he's worked it out. Shit. Dean shakes his head.

"That's not it," he assures him. "Really. And that wasn't last night, either. That wasn't you. That was just me being stupid, OK?"

Cas picks a sesame seed off his burger bun.

"I do not understand."

Dean sighs. He's not sure he does, either.

"Look," he says. "Usually, when I go out with people, it doesn't go so well. I guess I was expecting that to happen with you, too."

"Did it?" Cas looks down at his hand, which rests on the table between them.

"No!" Dean is a little shocked to realise that he's somehow ended up holding onto Cas' sleeve at this point. He keeps going anyway. "I had a really good time, actually. Before I fucked it up. Which I'm really sorry for, by the way. You have no idea how sorry. I was a douchebag."

Cas is smiling slightly now. It's only a small smile, but it's a lot more than Dean's used to. He thinks he could get used to it.

The smile fades.

"Then why did you not call on me today?" he asks. "When you were in trouble. I could have assisted you. I _wanted_ to assist you."

"You did," Dean assures him. He sighs. His hands, he notice, seem to be working of their own accord, holding Cas' as they are. He wonders if he should feel self-conscious, sitting in a diner in the middle of nowhere and holding another dude's hand. He doesn't. "I didn't call you because I wanted to talk to you properly," he explains. "I wanted to get the job over and done with and _then_ call you, work stuff out. After a shower, because yeah. Not smelling too fresh right now, I know."

The smile is there again, and it makes Dean grin in return to see it.

"I did not notice, I assure you."

"It's not very becoming of an angel of the Lord to lie, Cas." He runs his index finger over the skin of Cas' thumb. It's strangely soft, not like he'd expected a man's hands to feel at all. He always expected them to be rougher, slightly calloused. He suddenly remembers his plan. Looking at Cas, who is still smiling that small smile of his, lips quirked upwards in a knowing little grin, he thinks that now might be as good a time as any to put it into action. He takes a deep breath and bites the bullet. "I was going to ask you out again."

Cas blinks.

"You did not 'ask me out' in the first place," he points out. Dean raises an eyebrow.

"Are we really gonna argue semantics right now, Cas?" he asks. "Because here I am, trying to be all romantic and shit and ask you out on a date, and it's hard for me, y'know, as a man with a reputation to defend, and - "

"I would be amenable to accepting your offer," Cas interrupts. "On one condition."

Dean tilts his head to the left, contemplatively.

"Shoot," he says. Cas looks at their entwined hands and Dean's stomach does a weird little somersault.

"You leave your telephone at the motel."

"Deal," Dean agrees. He's not about to fuck up the second chance he knows he doesn't deserve.

"Then yes, Dean. I would very much like to go out with you again."

"Great." Dean knows he's grinning, but is finding it incredibly difficult to give a shit. He's got a date with Cas, and that's pretty awesome. He's going to get another chance at this thing with Cas – Cas, he of the impeccable grammar and perpetually mussed hair and fucking blue eyes – and that's all he cares about.

"Yes."

"Good."

"I'm going to be sick," announces Sam, sliding back into the booth next to Cas, a steaming mug of filter coffee clasped between his hands. "Holding hands in public. It's practically indecent."

"Bitch." Dean lets go of Cas' hand and picks up his burger again. Still smiling, Cas does the same.

Dean wonders if they might be OK after all.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam walks into Dean's room about half an hour before Dean is due to leave for his second chance date with Cas, a grin spread across his face that clearly reads 'no, I will not let you live this down'. Dean sighs and steels himself for his brother's attempts at humour.

"Picked out a little black dress yet?" Sam asks, right on cue. Dean raises an eyebrow.

"Thought I'd go with the tried and tested mini-skirt, actually," he retorts. "I'm going for 'classy yet available'." He turns away from his brother's self-satisfied smirk and eyes himself in the mirror.

Sam clears his throat and Dean sighs, turning to face him again. His brother is standing with his hands in his pockets, looking slightly sheepish.

"Dean," he says. Dean waits for the follow-up comment, but it doesn't come. He gestures for Sam to continue, and Sam scratches the back of his neck, awkwardly. "I just wanted to know why you're doing this," he finally continues. "Because a few weeks ago, you were going on dates with pretty much every woman who looked your way, and Cas was helping you do it. I didn't knew you... well. Y'know."

"Not psychic, Sam," Dean points out helpfully. Sam rubs his face like he's the most put-upon person under the sun.

"I didn't know you were into dudes," he finishes, bluntly. Dean blinks.

"I'm not," he says. He turns to inspect himself in the mirror again. He's wearing his usual t-shirt, jacket and jeans, but he's suddenly struck with the thought that this a date and maybe he should actually dress up for it. "Hey, do you think I should go the extra mile and wear a shirt – I mean a proper one, one with a tie and shit - or just not bother? I mean, I bet Cas will just show up in his usual flasher coat. I don't want to look over-dressed. Just fabulous."

Sam ignores him.

"What do you mean you're not?" he asks. "Dude, in case you didn't realise, Cas totally has a dick. He's a guy."

"Oh Mr Holmes, you've solved it again," mutters Dean, and he sighs. He's not really prepared to talk about feelings right now, least of all with Sam. He'd actually rather talk about glitter and Adam Lambert, although he's actually pretty sure that that conversation is on the horizon, too. "Look, I don't know, OK? I just know I'm not into men. Like, really not."

"But Cas - "

"I don't _know_, Sam," Dean interrupts him, exasperated. He runs a hand through his hair and tries to compose his thoughts into at least a semi-linear pattern. He's never been good at explaining himself, least of all when it really matters, and this totally matters. "It's not men. It's not dudes. It's just Cas, OK? Not Ryan Gosling, or Burt Reynolds, or fucking Zac Efron. Just Cas. Now, can we stop talking about this? I can practically feel my manhood shrivelling up."

Sam looks thoughtful. Dean sighs. Sam's obviously not going to drop it.

"You know, it does sort of make sense," Sam says. "I suppose Cas is sort of... genderless, right? I mean, he's in the body of a guy, but as an angel, he's not really a man or a woman."

Dean doesn't even know if that's it. Sam's right, it would make sense, but he thinks it's honestly ust because Cas is Cas and Cas is awesome.

"Yeah," he says, sort of gruffly. "Makes sense. Now tell me; tie or no tie?"

"No tie. Ties make you look like an air-conditioning salesman."

"And they make you look like you've been sentenced to community service."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

Sam laughs, and claps Dean on the shoulder in a way that's probably supposed to be brotherly and manly but just comes across as slightly patronising and uncomfortable.

"Go get him, tiger," he says. Dean winces.

"Never say that again," he tells him. He pauses. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," says Sam. Dean grins. His brother can be a giant pain in the ass sometimes, but he's generally pretty awesome. Dean's lucky. He's about to tell him this when Sam raises his hand. "No. Really, Dean. Don't mention _anything_ you may or may not get up to tonight. I may never love again if you do."

Dean looks at Sam. Sam looks at Dean.

"Sorry I'm early," says Cas from behind Dean, and Dean has never been so grateful.

* * *

They go to a bar relatively nearby, because Dean has left his cellphone at the motel at Cas' request and the motel is near enough that Sam can come and get him should something come up. They get a table in the corner, and Cas seems happy that he can see everything that's going on. Dean is just enjoying the company.

They talk about a lot of things. They relive the unicorn incident – Cas seems inordinately pleased at being described as a hero – and a couple of others besides. Dean tells Cas about the time he had to give someone CPR in high-school. Cas listens intently and tells Dean in a low voice about what happens to someone's soul when their heart stops beating and is restarted.

Dean wonders why he'd never thought about doing this before. He knows he's been too hung up on the fact that Cas happened to take the vessel of a man to notice that he actually has way too many awesome qualities to overlook. He thinks about he almost blew it, almost made Cas hate him, and he's about to thank Cas for agreeing to give him another chance when he notices that Cas isn't looking at him.

"Cas?"

"Dean," Cas says, eyes wide. "That man is in great distress." Dean looks at the man Cas is currently eyeing with concern.

"What's up with him?" he asks. Cas turns back to him.

"He arrived here alone, but has since met a man he wishes to date," Cas answers. "The other man does not feel as though they would make suitable partners."

Dean winces.

"Ouch," he says. "Why not?"

Cas shrugs.

"I do not believe he gave a valid reason," he replies. "But he told him that he did not look very experienced, which was somehow incompatible with his own nature."

"Well, who's the other guy?"

"He is over there," Cas responds, tilting his head towards the bar. Dean spies a well-dressed older man sitting alone on one of the stools, nursing a scotch. To be fair, he doesn't look thrilled at being alone either.

Dean looks back at the first guy. He's sitting at a table alone, a beer and two empty bottles in front of him and his head in his hands. Cas watches him too, his brow ever so slightly furrowed in concern. Dean thinks how lucky he is to be here with someone he genuinely likes, and he realises that he can't allow this. He _won't_ allow it.

He downs the rest of his beer and wipes his mouth. Cas eyes him quizzically.

"Cas," says Dean. "I'm going over there. We are going to be the best wingmen in the history of wingmen."

Cas' eyes widen and he beams. It sort of warms the cockles of Dean's heart to see him so obviously thrilled at slipping back into the role he'd once so enjoyed.

"Tell me your plan," says Cas, and Dean does.

* * *

Dean sits next to the first guy. Thanks to Cas, he knows that his name is Mark, and he's a twenty-three year old architect. He's also getting uncomfortably used to rejection.

Dean can relate.

He clears his throat.

"Hey," he says. Mark looks up, and sighs.

"Hi," he responds, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Look, I don't mean to be rude, but I'm - "

"Painfully in lust with that guy at the bar over there, I know," Dean interrupts. Mark's eyes dart towards the other guy – Jim, Cas told him – and back to Dean. He swallows.

"How did you know?" he whispers. "Was it that obvious? I wasn't even looking at him!"

Dean shakes his head. He steals a glance back in Jim's direction. Cas is sitting at the stool next to him, watching Dean carefully, awaiting the cue to put their plan into action.

"You really like him, huh?" Dean continues. Mark sighs.

"Met him a few months ago," he answers. "He comes into the office I do temp work at sometimes. Been trying to impress him ever since. Not that he ever notices."

Dean finds himself smiling.

"Know that feeling," he says. Mark's lips quirk upwards, but he still looks a little sad.

"I guess I thought maybe he'd notice me here," he carries on. He takes another swig of beer. "Evidently not, though." He looks at Dean. "I don't know why I'm telling you this. It's not like you can help me."

Dean laughs.

"You'd be surprised," he says. He turns back to Cas and winks, getting a nod from Cas in return, and then turns back to Mark and leans in, conspiratorially. "Just play along," he whispers.

Mark narrows his eyes.

"What - "

" – the most passionate night I have _ever_ spent with another human being, Mark!" Dean starts. Mark's eyes widen. He opens his mouth to object, but Dean isn't done. Raising his voice slightly, he covers his eyes with the heels of his palms. "Damnit, Mark, we made love six times in one night! You were so tender and yet so animalistic – how am I ever going to forget that? You've ruined sex for me forever! I can't - "

"Hello, Dean," says Cas. Dean stops, and looks behind him. Cas is standing there, next to an open-mouthed Jim. Mark is blushing furiously.

"Oh, Cas," Dean returns, trying to sound desperately upset. "Remember I told you about Mark? That guy I spent a beautiful night of lustful love-making with?"

Cas nods.

"I remember," he states, woodenly.

"This is him!" Dean cries, and wow, he's starting to fool himself now. Jim is watching Mark, his mouth agape.

"Dean, he is not worth it," says Cas flatly, gripping Dean's arm. Dean stands up, the chair falling to the floor with a crash.

"Yes he is!" he sobs. "I gotta get out of here, Cas. Let's go."

With that, he starts to walk away, dragging Cas behind him. He manages to glance behind him during his hasty exit and sees Jim pick up the chair Dean had toppled over, sit on it and offer Mark his hand by way of greeting. Mark looks at Dean and Dean winks, earning himself a very grateful smile.

Dean smiles.

* * *

Outside the bar, Dean finds himself laughing. The air is chilly and biting, the sky darkening to hues of cool blue, and Dean is sort of in hysterics.

Cas watches.

"I do not understand," he says. Dean breathes deeply, and shakes his head.

"Don't worry." He looks at Cas, who is standing awkwardly by the Impala, hands clasped behind his back and head tilted to the left. Dean's pulse increases. "I just haven't done that before. I've never got the chance to be someone's wingman." He grins. "It feels pretty awesome."

"Yes," Cas agrees.

Dean looks at him. He wonders if he's cold. He knows _he_ is. He digs around in his jeans pockets and pulls out his keys, throws them to Cas.

"I'm freezing my balls off," he explains. "Get in."

Cas does.

* * *

They don't drive anywhere in particular. They don't know the area well – they've been here for perhaps three weeks, and there hasn't really been time for exploring, what with the vampires and the demons and the fucking unicorn, and Dean thinks that now's as good a time as any. They drive past an old gas station that looks like it's been shut since before Dean was born, and Cas asks him why it's still standing if no-one uses it any more. It takes Dean a while to think of a suitable answer beyond '_it's somewhere warm for the junkies to shoot up'_.

"I guess it's nice to be able to see where you came from," he eventually decides. "Y'know, it's cool to see old things. They're just as important as the new stuff. Just because something isn't useful any more, doesn't mean it's useless."

Cas seems to accept this answer and moves onto more important questions such as why Dean has three Survivor cassettes ("Because if I see one for 80 cents at a yard sale, I'm not going to leave it there, Cas"), why Sam hasn't had a haircut in eight months ("He has some deep-rooted gender issues as well as a possible female reproductive system, but don't tell him I told you") and why Dean likes pie so much ("If you cut me, do I not bleed? Of course I like pie! Who doesn't like pie?").

His last question is a little harder to answer. Dean's pulled over in order to show Cas the beauty that is Led Zeppelin, and he's rooting around a bit, trying to find the right cassette.

"Do you like me, Dean?"

The question comes suddenly and Dean drops the cassette in shock. He hadn't been expecting that. He doesn't really know how to respond. Cas clearly takes his silence for a negative response because he tilts his head to the right and makes to open the car door.

"No!"

Dean leans over and takes hold of Cas' hand before he can reach the handle, and Cas' eyes widen in surprised confusion. Dean swallows.

"No?" Cas says. Dean curses under his breath.

"No, I _do_ like you," he clarifies. He sighs, aware that he's technically holding Cas' hand but finding it hard to care. They've held hands before, after all, but the stakes didn't seem quite as high. "So help me, Cas, I like you."

Cas looks at him, meets his eye properly, and Dean can feel his heart beat faster. It still confuses him slightly how Cas, an angel in a male body who speaks like Cleverbot and probably thinks that Dr Sexy is just an attractive physician at some local practice, can have that sort of effect on him. He's sort of dealing with it, though. He's doing his best.

"All right," Cas says, finally, and although he still looks more than a little perplexed, he looks happier. Dean summons up all the courage he has and rubs his thumb in little circles across Cas' skin, and Cas does that endearing little half-smile he does that makes Dean want to stand on a bench and sing about love and feelings and shit.

"I've been wondering something too," he says. Cas looks at him, eyes curious.

"What?" he asks. Dean shrugs.

"Well, you can pretty much read my soul like an open book, right?"

Cas nods.

"Everything is written upon it," he confirms. Dean nods, slowly.

"See, that's what I don't get," he says. "If you can read my entire soul, how come you never seem to know what I'm thinking or how I feel?"

Cas tilts his head to the right. Dean knows that means he's trying to formulate an answer. He thinks it's pretty awesome that he knows that, but also slightly terrifying.

"I am able to read certain things on your soul," Cas answers, after a few seconds' thought. "Deeds and actions, mostly. I am unable to read your thoughts, Dean. They are perhaps written, but it is as though they are written in a different language. I cannot read them."

"Dude, does that mean you're not psychic?"

Cas nods. Dean sighs, falsely melodramatic.

"Damn. Guess that means you don't know what I'm thinking right now, huh?"

Cas shakes his head.

"I do not."

"Hmm," says Dean, and he drums his fingers – the ones that aren't currently entwined with Cas' - on the dashboard. "That's a shame, actually. I was thinking something kind of awesome."

Cas' eyes search Dean's. He looks, as ever, quizzical, but there's something else there, too. It looks a bit like hope.

"I could show you," Dean offers, and immediately wants to kick himself for sounding like he belongs in a B-list romantic comedy.

Cas swallows, and Dean watches the bob of his Adam's apple.

"You could," Cas affirms, and Dean thinks _fuck it_, Cas must know what's coming and he's agreed to it, and that's just incredible, really, because Cas is awesome and he wants Dean and Dean wants Cas.

Dean leans over, slowly at first so his intentions are obvious and he can give Cas time to back away. Cas doesn't, just swallows hard again, and his inexperience and anxiety are so endearing that Dean can't actually help but lean in all the way until he's pressed his lips onto Cas'. It's not exactly a kiss, not really, but it's still pretty nice. It stops being pretty nice when Cas makes a sort of happy noise in the back of his throat and suddenly throws his arms around Dean's neck, moves his mouth a little so they actually fit together properly, and _then_ they're kissing, and it's not perfect – it's painfully obvious that this is Cas' first attempt, his teeth and his tongue getting in the way – but it's as close as Dean's ever got, and that's more than enough.

It's Dean who pulls away first, his mouth actually tingling a bit, his heartbeat racing. Cas is blushing, and Dean can't help but grin a little at the fact he's had that effect on him. Cas has had rather another effect on Dean, but that's thankfully hidden quite nicely by the angle of Dean's body. He doesn't think Cas is quite ready for _that_ conversation yet. Neither is Dean, for that matter. He has a lot of research to do before he even thinks about touching that base.

"We should get back to the motel," says Dean, and at Cas' disappointed look, he elaborates. "Dude, not because I'm regretting this or anything, but because this? This car is not made for these activities. I think I've twisted my spleen. We should go somewhere where we can get comfortable."

Cas pinks again, and Dean laughs, can't help but kiss him again, close-mouthed and short but enough that Cas' eyes widen and he flushes even redder.

Dean shakes his head, still grinning as he turns the keys in the ignition.

* * *

Sam pushes the coffee across the table to Dean, who accepts it gratefully. The diner is brightly lit by artificial bulbs as well as the early morning sun, and Dean's nowhere near awake enough to appreciate it.

Sam is smiling at him enigmatically, and Dean sighs.

"Spit it out," he says, and Sam steeples his fingers under his chin and raises an eyebrow.

"So," he begins, and then finishes. Dean raises both eyebrows and gestures for Sam to continue.

"Not psychic, y'know."

"C'mon, Dean. What do you think I'm going to ask about?"

Dean picks up a sachet of sugar from the pot on the table, tears it open and pours it into the coffee.

"What makes you think I want to talk about it?" he counters.

Sam pouts.

"Why not?" he asks. He sighs. "I'm not going to tease you, Dean."

Dean raises an eyebrow.

"Really?" he says. "Because it looked to me like that was exactly what you were going to do."

Sam rubs the back of his neck.

"Dean," he says. "I'm only going to say this once, so you'd better listen. You and Cas? It's a good thing, OK? If you're happy, and he's happy, then I'm fine with it. Completely." He pauses, gives Dean time to absorb what he's said, and then continues, a slight grin on his face. "That doesn't mean I won't ask you about it, though."

Dean stirs his coffee.

"What level of detail?" he asks, resignedly. Sam smiles brightly.

"Keep it PG," he instructs. Dean rolls his eyes.

"The whole story is PG," he says. Sam looks mildly surprised.

"Really?"

"Yeah." Dean reaches for another packet of sugar. "Come on, Sam. Give me a break. I'm not _that_ guy." He tears open the sachet and empties it into the mug.

"You usually are," Sam argues. Dean thinks about this. Sam's not wrong. Dean's loved and left more women that he'd care to admit. He's had more one night stands than he can count on the fingers and toes of everyone in this diner, and it's rush hour.

He doesn't want to do that with Cas, hasn't done that with Cas. Cas is more than that. Cas likes cheeseburgers and hands in his hair and doesn't like pepperoni on his pizza or kissing with tongue.

"Cas is different," he says, finally. Sam looks approving, and Dean's suddenly struck by the urge to tell him everything, because it's nothing to be ashamed about. "He's really different, Sam. And you know how you asked me if this meant I was into dudes? And I said it didn't? Well, I think it's because I don't see a dude when I look at Cas. I just see Cas, y'know? I just see this... this _person_ who's saved my ass more times than I can remember and who likes me even though he knows I've done some really shitty stuff, and I like _him_ even though I know he's killed a unicorn this week." He stirs his coffee a little more, trying to think of what else he needs to say. "And I really, really like him. He makes me happy. I like being with him. That's all there is to it, really. And it helps that he's a really good kisser, actually."

"Thank you," says Cas, and Dean nearly jumps a mile to see the angel sitting next to him.

"Will you ever stop doing that?" he asks, his hand over his heart. It's racing, but Dean doesn't think that's entirely from fright.

Cas cocks his head to the left.

"Would you like me to?" he asks.

Dean grins.

"Nope."

Sam rolls his eyes.

"Now that we've established that you two are _that_ couple," he says, and Cas looks quizzically at Dean. "I kind of have a favour to ask of you, Dean."

Dean takes a sip of coffee. It's strong and sweet.

"What?" he asks.

Sam shifts uncomfortably.

"You see that waitress over there?" he asks, gesturing behind Cas. Dean turns around as subtly as he can and sees a pretty young redhead. He lets out a low whistle.

"Say no more, Sammy boy," he says. Cas takes Dean's mug of coffee and takes a sip. Sam rolls his eyes.

"I sort of wanted to know if you'd repay my well-intentioned but ultimately unnecessary favour," Sam says. "And be my wingman."

Dean looks at Cas. Cas looks at Dean.

He takes Cas' hand, and Cas looks slightly adoring.

"No, Sammy," Dean answers. "We'll be your wingmen."


End file.
